Eric Ball, as many readers will know, was one of England's most distinguished
composers, recognized by Her Majesty as a member of the Order of The British
Empire. More importantly to us, he was our son's Godfather.

On
October 27, 1988 our phone rang in mid-afternoon. As it happened, I was away
from my desk and in the kitchen and had just that moment picked up my little
son, then called Bobby. It was his first birthday.

As I lifted the receiver the
unmistakable, frail-sounding voice of Eric Ball said: "Hello Bob!" I stuttered .
. . "E-Eric?" He said: "Yes, but I didn't call to speak to you. I understand
it's Master Robert's birthday. May I speak to him, please?" "Y-yes . . ." said I
as I put the phone to Bobby's ear. He eagerly took possession and began a series
of quizzical looks and a stream of "bla-bla, dibble, dibble, da, da, da" as any
baby might. After well more than a full minute of this dialogue, he smiled and said
his first-ever intelligible words as clear as a bell: "Bye-bye!" and he hung up
the phone.

I have no idea what transpired
between them, but I'm as certain as I am of life itself that Eric was offering
my son, his godson, his blessing. I never asked Eric. I felt that was between
him and my son.

I was, however, brought to mind of a
similar experience with our daughter Jean a couple years earlier in Chicago. We
were visiting Marion Fischer, the wife of my mentor and dear friend Irwin
Fischer. Jeannie was babbling away and "Granny Marion", for whom Jean received
one of her middle names, babbled back in-kind. Finally Marion chortled and said:
"She knows exactly what she's saying. We're just to stupid to
understand her!"

I suspect that both Eric and little
Bobby knew exactly what they were saying, and that there was a
blessing in there somewhere. The reason? Bobby, "Buck" as he is now known, has
been as blameless a kid as ever existed, and remains in his late teens the most
Christ-centered youngster I've ever seen. What a birthday present!!